The Beach
there is no mystery in a wave
the moon pulls and the rest behaves
and what washes upon the shore
is a reminder that life once began in a shell.
Untitled
i’m anonymous –
holding onto pieces of myself with the strength
of a stereotype.
your gangster face weeps.
who shredded your smile?
The Seducer (written in my notebook while attending a philosophy course)
i was told about nietzsche, that he was dead
and love was a mere acceptance of being.
your dreams, as simple as a rose bush, secretly became mine.
maybe kierkegaard’s diary holds the answer,
or shall it remain timeless?
FLOWER POEMS
Anemone (one of my favorite flowers)
she's a grove-queen grasping for red
topless and manic, with bits of cold-black
bathing in a kettle-fizz of pink that bursts
into a numb and hot flower.
Hydrangea
i understand deadwood;
the emerging leaf
from a stem.
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